ever
man in the same line, thinks very highly of him.'
'Just the fellow to travel with. I want to get hold of some solid
scientific ideas, but I haven't the patience to work steadily. A
confounded fault of mine, you know, Earwaker,--want of patience. You
must have noticed it?'
'Oh--well, now and then, perhaps.'
'Yes, yes; but of course I know myself better. And now tell me about
Moxey. A married man, of course?'
'No, lives with a sister.'
'Unmarried sister?--Brains?'
'Pretty well supplied with that commodity.'
'You must introduce me to her. I do like women with brains.--
'Orthodox or enlightened?'
'Bitterly enlightened.'
'Really? Magnificent! Oh, I must know her. Nothing like an emancipated
woman! How any man can marry the ordinary female passes my
understanding. What do _you_ think?'
'My opinions are in suspense; not yet precipitated, as Peak might say.'
One o'clock sounded from neighbouring churches, but Malkin was wide
awake as ever. He entered upon a detailed narrative of his travels,
delightful to listen to, so oddly blended were the strains of conscious
and unconscious humour which marked his personality. Two o'clock; three
o'clock;--he would have talked till breakfast-time, but at last
Earwaker declared that the hour had come for sleep. As Malkin had taken
a room at the Inns of Court Hotel, it was easy for him to repair to his
quarters. The last his friend heard of him was an unexplained laugh,
echoing far down the staircase.
CHAPTER II
Peak's destination was Peckham Rye. On quitting the railway, he had a
walk of some ten minutes along a road which smelt of new bricks and
stucco heated by the summer sun; an obscure passage led him into a
street partly of dwelling-houses, partly of shops, the latter closed.
He paused at the side door of one over which the street lamp dimly
revealed--'Button, Herbalist'.
His latch-key admitted him to total darkness, but he moved forward with
the confidence of long use. He softly ascended two flights of stairs,
opened a door, struck a match, and found himself in a comfortable
sitting-room, soon illumined by a reading-lamp. The atmosphere, as
throughout the house, was strongly redolent of dried simples. Anyone
acquainted with the characteristics of furnished lodgings must have
surmised that Peak dwelt here among his own moveables, and was indebted
to the occupier of the premises for bare walls alone; the tables and
chairs, though plain enough
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